


slightly off-tune

by lovehound



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Panic Attacks, Songfic, Wilbur Soot Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29580717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovehound/pseuds/lovehound
Summary: Wilbur looks around at the shopping mall. Tommy's right. It's too loud, too bright, and he's suddenly he's aware of everything wobbling and warping, as if he was looking at the outside from a fishbowl.Inspired by the song 'Out like a light 2' by The Honeysticks & Ricky Montgomery
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	slightly off-tune

"Can we leave?"

Wilbur looks around at the shopping mall. Tommy's right. It's too loud, too bright, and he's suddenly he's aware of everything wobbling and warping, as if he was looking at the outside from a fishbowl. He tries to ignore it and checks his phone, the screen making his head throb and his eyes water. It's only 12:30, too early to drop Tommy off (not that the little gremlin would want to go back anyway), and certainly way too early for him to be feeling this terrible. 

Why'd he have to go out with people today, of all days? God, he should have made up a reason to cancel... Suddenly realising what he's just thought, he mentally chides himself. Course, he loves his friends and Tommy is like a brother to him, but he should have known that sometimes days were hard to survive, and this one was just another that he had to trudge through until he finally lay exhausted in his bed, scrolling mindlessly through the messages he hadn't bothered to answer. He should have made an excuse if he knew it was going to be this bad.

A tug on his coat snaps him back to reality. 

"Oi, Wilbur, you even listening to me?"

He realises that Tommy's been talking the entire time, and he reflexively opens his mouth to say something but he chokes and sputters, like the idiot he is. He manages to croak out a "sorry, go on?" and a weak smile, but Tommy's not stupid, he knows something off. Oh well, too late to worry about that now, he thinks - and he's suddenly floating, floating off the face of the earth, tethered to a reality he calls home but at the same time he's not all too familiar with, like notes from a song you used to love being played slightly off-tune. The sounds around him melt away, and he can hear those ringing guitar strums again, muffled by the cotton balls stuffing and suffocating his thoughts.

_did your mother always seem to hate me? ___

Those haunting, familiar lyrics... they're playing, and they're soft, and quiet, yet sound louder than the sounds of the mall he'd left behind. 

_I'm sicker every day, ___

The ache spreads from his heart to his head, like decay that quickly takes over his limbs and his eyes as well. He's melting, and he's burning, and he doesn't know who he is but he does, at the same time. 

_and now I'm terrified, of talking to my friends, ___

Tommy's there, he remembers, but it's faint, like a whisper you catch when you cross the street, fluid and fleeting like a school of tiny, tiny slivers of fish, their scales scraping against his arms, his legs; tiny, sharp blades that had once burrowed their way into his pockets, his bags, his hands. 

_you never leave, ___

It's almost like an accusation. He's flailing, he's useless, he's a single, stranded possibility among thousands, millions, even. A million possibilities where he was good enough. Where he didn't feel like this - like he was _wrong_, like a defective product waiting to be returned or thrown away. 

_you never leave, ___

The song builds, a cacophony of ghostly voices chanting in and out of unison, getting louder and louder, waiting for something to happen, a crescendo building, building, building- 

_you never leave, ___

He gasps, and all of a sudden he's back, and it's almost worse than floating. He's a million times heavier, and his knees buckle, and he's falling, falling back to earth. _not here_ he tells himself, there's people watching, whispering in the peripheral of his vision. He's aware of everything. everyone. every sound in the world, every inch of hair and fabric and damp, heavy air that touches his skin. And he's here, and he's Atlas, and he's holding the world on his shoulders, pressing down with unrelenting, cruel force. And it's too much. He hears Tommy's panicked yelling, and although he'd normally welcome it, it hurts. It's too loud, and it stings, making his skin prickle and his breath falter as he drowns in the humidity. 

"-ilbur! Wilbur, can you hear me?" 


End file.
